<p>Listening to Dr G Ramakrishna, a renowned scholar, thinker, and writer, has always been engrossing. Recently, I learnt that he hails from Kempasagara in Magadi taluk, Bengaluru district. He fondly recalled studying under the roofs of Dodda matha, playing in the tank bed when it was dry, and walking all the way from Kempasagara village to Magadi town for higher classes. When he mentioned the presence of inscriptions in his village, I decided to pay a visit.</p>.<p>While reading through the Epigraphia Carnatica Volume IX (EC9), published in 1905, I found a reference to an inscription dated 1674 AD. It was recorded as being, “on a stone south of the Basavanna temple in the village of Kempasagara under Satanur Hobli.” The inscription mentions the original name of the village as ‘Heraliganahalli Ambograma’, later renamed ‘Mummadi Kempasagara’.</p>.<p>I also came across a Class 7 Social Science textbook, which stated that Kempe Gowda III (1641-1674 CE) constructed the Kempasagara tank to tackle drought. The Mysore Archaeological Survey (MAS) report for 1914-1915, while providing additional details about Kempasagara, also refers to the same inscription.</p>.<p>On a cloudy morning, I boarded a KSRTC bus and alighted at Magadi and walked to Kempasagara.</p>.<p>In the sleepy village, I enquired about the Lingayat matha mentioned in the MAS report as “said to have been built by Kempe Gowda.” Putta Ramaiah Venkapannavar, a local resident, guided me to the matha, locally known as Dodda matha. Facing west, it features finely sculpted pillars and a beautiful Nandi-mantapa in front. On one of the pillars, I located the “figure of Kempe Gowda” as described in the MAS report.</p>.<p>A short distance away stood the Basavanna temple. Behind it, amid discarded materials, I found a five-foot-tall inscription with 38 lines — the very one mentioned in EC9. This inscription refers to the village as Heraliganahalli ambograma and Mummadi Kempasagara. This is a dharma shaasana, or a record of the gift of land to Brahmins.</p>.<p>Nearby was another structure called the Jangama matha, or known locally as Chikka matha. Though now in ruins, this multi-pillared matha still displays fine sculptures, most of them hidden under heavy layers of paint. The Shaivite dwarapalakas at the doorway remain identifiable despite the thick coating.</p>.<p>Walking along the bund of the Kempasagara kere towards its far end, I noted the three sluices described in the MAS report. Only the first sluice retains its mantapa. The lake itself is large and striking, with the Kugina Kallu hill forming a scenic eastern boundary.</p>.<p>From a distance, I noticed a tall stone slab at the end of the bund. On closer inspection, it turned out to be another inscription. Upon enquiry, I learned that this was in the village of Halasettihalli. It was, in fact, inscription Magadi 30 of EC9, which records that Yalahanka Nad Prabhu Mummadi Kempe Gaudayya renamed ‘Horaliganahalli’ in ‘Magadi Hobli’ as ‘Mummadi Kempasagara’, in connection with the land gift for the tank.</p>.<p>What intrigued me most was the carved imagery beneath the inscription. The lower register depicts a man holding the tail of a tiger in his right hand, while the upper register shows a bullock cart in top view, with what seems to be the head of an attacking tiger in front. I thought about the connection between these images and the land grant for the kere. Could it be that someone driving a bullock cart lost his life during the construction of the tank while fighting a tiger?</p>.<p>As I went to fetch water from the lake to clean the shaasana, my eyes fell upon a mud-covered top slab of the weir. When I instinctively cleared the surface, the year “1891” emerged, etched into the stone.</p>.<p>The bund path eventually leads to Huthri Betta village and further down to Santhepete. On my return, I observed the uneven, narrow bund and was reminded of a 1897 report in the State Archives, which recorded the need to widen the Kempasagara bund “for the convenience of carts and men going to Hutridrug sante.” Remarkably, after 128 years, the bund remains the same narrow, muddy stretch.</p>
<p>Listening to Dr G Ramakrishna, a renowned scholar, thinker, and writer, has always been engrossing. Recently, I learnt that he hails from Kempasagara in Magadi taluk, Bengaluru district. He fondly recalled studying under the roofs of Dodda matha, playing in the tank bed when it was dry, and walking all the way from Kempasagara village to Magadi town for higher classes. When he mentioned the presence of inscriptions in his village, I decided to pay a visit.</p>.<p>While reading through the Epigraphia Carnatica Volume IX (EC9), published in 1905, I found a reference to an inscription dated 1674 AD. It was recorded as being, “on a stone south of the Basavanna temple in the village of Kempasagara under Satanur Hobli.” The inscription mentions the original name of the village as ‘Heraliganahalli Ambograma’, later renamed ‘Mummadi Kempasagara’.</p>.<p>I also came across a Class 7 Social Science textbook, which stated that Kempe Gowda III (1641-1674 CE) constructed the Kempasagara tank to tackle drought. The Mysore Archaeological Survey (MAS) report for 1914-1915, while providing additional details about Kempasagara, also refers to the same inscription.</p>.<p>On a cloudy morning, I boarded a KSRTC bus and alighted at Magadi and walked to Kempasagara.</p>.<p>In the sleepy village, I enquired about the Lingayat matha mentioned in the MAS report as “said to have been built by Kempe Gowda.” Putta Ramaiah Venkapannavar, a local resident, guided me to the matha, locally known as Dodda matha. Facing west, it features finely sculpted pillars and a beautiful Nandi-mantapa in front. On one of the pillars, I located the “figure of Kempe Gowda” as described in the MAS report.</p>.<p>A short distance away stood the Basavanna temple. Behind it, amid discarded materials, I found a five-foot-tall inscription with 38 lines — the very one mentioned in EC9. This inscription refers to the village as Heraliganahalli ambograma and Mummadi Kempasagara. This is a dharma shaasana, or a record of the gift of land to Brahmins.</p>.<p>Nearby was another structure called the Jangama matha, or known locally as Chikka matha. Though now in ruins, this multi-pillared matha still displays fine sculptures, most of them hidden under heavy layers of paint. The Shaivite dwarapalakas at the doorway remain identifiable despite the thick coating.</p>.<p>Walking along the bund of the Kempasagara kere towards its far end, I noted the three sluices described in the MAS report. Only the first sluice retains its mantapa. The lake itself is large and striking, with the Kugina Kallu hill forming a scenic eastern boundary.</p>.<p>From a distance, I noticed a tall stone slab at the end of the bund. On closer inspection, it turned out to be another inscription. Upon enquiry, I learned that this was in the village of Halasettihalli. It was, in fact, inscription Magadi 30 of EC9, which records that Yalahanka Nad Prabhu Mummadi Kempe Gaudayya renamed ‘Horaliganahalli’ in ‘Magadi Hobli’ as ‘Mummadi Kempasagara’, in connection with the land gift for the tank.</p>.<p>What intrigued me most was the carved imagery beneath the inscription. The lower register depicts a man holding the tail of a tiger in his right hand, while the upper register shows a bullock cart in top view, with what seems to be the head of an attacking tiger in front. I thought about the connection between these images and the land grant for the kere. Could it be that someone driving a bullock cart lost his life during the construction of the tank while fighting a tiger?</p>.<p>As I went to fetch water from the lake to clean the shaasana, my eyes fell upon a mud-covered top slab of the weir. When I instinctively cleared the surface, the year “1891” emerged, etched into the stone.</p>.<p>The bund path eventually leads to Huthri Betta village and further down to Santhepete. On my return, I observed the uneven, narrow bund and was reminded of a 1897 report in the State Archives, which recorded the need to widen the Kempasagara bund “for the convenience of carts and men going to Hutridrug sante.” Remarkably, after 128 years, the bund remains the same narrow, muddy stretch.</p>